When I was pregnant with my first child more than sixteen years ago, I was clueless about midwifery and homebirth options. I lived in a suburb of Corpus Christi, TX that was populated with tiny tots and new moms, as evidenced by the sidewalk-sprinkling of strollers and tricycles. I read the standard books of the time, including What to Expect When You’re Expecting and Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care. I found a friendly OB/GYN who was a D.O., rather than an M.D. I thought her osteopathic training would translate to a holistic approach. It was 1992, and my town boasted a single health food store, so I had limited access to information about healthy living and natural childbirth. I had, fortunately, attended the local state university and studied child development. So I had an idea of what my expectant child was going to need from me when she arrived, I thought.
During my pregnancy, I heard about a local midwife from a friend. Curious, I made an appointment to meet with her to discuss natural birthing. She was friendly and generously lent me a stack of books and offered to attend my planned hospital birth. I didn’t seek her services, thinking that I had things under control, but I did read her books. They led me to create a birth plan which I brought to my doctor’s office at visits, along with written questions about episiotomies, epidurals, rooming-in with my newborn, etc. My doctor seemed fairly receptive to my ideas and questions.
I became slightly annoyed at the standard long wait in my doctor’s office: honestly, the average wait was 45 minutes-an hour before I was invited in to pee in a cup for and be weighed by a nameless assistant. Then, I’d wait again for the doc. When she’d arrive, I was all gushy and inspired…wanting to fill the 5-10 minutes in her presence with as much meaningful information sharing and bonding as possible. She was polite, but didn’t connect with me in a way that felt meaningful to me. I had my check-up and left to wait in the payments line.
Finally, when I went into labor, my doctor took my call. She “let” us come in to the hospital for a labor check, but I found that my labor slowed when they set me into the wheelchair and whisked me off to my room. I was disappointed when she sent me home, stating that I wouldn’t be in real labor for another couple of days.
Since they hadn’t allowed me to eat a single bite, I went directly to the local cafe for a sandwich, feeling ignorant and discouraged. Then, I puked up the club and pickle, and my contractions came back! I didn’t want to call my doc, though. I went home and sat out for another hour or two as contractions bellowed in my pelvis. I didn’t have the tools or knowledge then to know to trust my body. I had never heard of such a concept! I became scared and wanted to go to the hospital, so we called the doc again who, clearly annoyed, asked me to stay on the line through a contraction or two. When I was unable to talk, she consented that we could return to the hospital.
In the car, I found the contractions to be unbearable, but upon arriving at the hospital and checking in, they slowed again! I was in disbelief! What was going on? They allowed me to stay this time, strapping all of the required machines to me and placing the standard IV in my arm. I was content. This was really happening, or they wouldn’t let me stay-right? So, when my doc came back and checked me, I was devastated with her claim that I wouldn’t have my baby until tomorrow or the next day! ARRGH! With a “humph!”, she left for the day.
It was then that I surrendered, and my labor came on strong. I was limited in my ability to move, but I tried the hands-knees position that I’d read about in the midwife’s books. I wagged my tail with back-labor. The L&D nurses pleaded with me to get the epidural and be quiet so that other moms wouldn’t be frightened by my groans. I was both embarrassed and outraged! I was in labor, too-and without drugs! I denied each of their attempts to push drugs on board my healthy young body. I had to argue with them to go to the toilet (because they had to unhook my fetal monitor and follow me with the IV), and I noticed that my strongest contractions came to me alone in the bathroom. In between contractions, the nurses limited my intake to a few ice chips, but I was so thirsty! Why couldn’t I have more? It seemed cruel that my mouth was so dry as I worked hard to birth my first baby.
When I vomited in transition (reaching 7cm in dilation), the nurse insisted that I take something, as it was my last chance. With a nod from my mother, who hated to see me working, I gave in. But it was too late for the epidural, so they gave me Demerol intravenously. I became sleepy between contractions, although I got up into my working labor pattern as they came on. They barely took the edge off the contractions, but I did rest in short bouts between. I wasn’t aware at the time that I was endangering my baby with a narcotic.
Finally I was ready to push, but the doctor, whom I hadn’t seen since my “welcome” back to the hospital, was doubtful. When her eyes lit up at my complete cervix and descending head, she said she’d have to cut an episiotomy. Both my spouse and I protested, but she insisted, and cut before my baby crowned. My beautiful baby was born healthy and I held her and protectively guarded her, getting her onto the breast myself with encouragement from my mother. After 45 minutes of my refusals to separate from her, they took her from me.
I went to the shower and cried hard for her return. Then, when I got her back, I insisted on her rooming-in. They were, of course, reluctant. I had to have a second person in the room so that I wouldn’t fall asleep and drop the baby on the floor. It was clear that I had to get out of there a.s.a.p.! But my bottom was soooo sore. The episiotomy had caused me a great deal of pain and the doctor denied that my pain was real. She was angry that I complained about it and refused the pain relief I didn’t ask for. I went home the morning after my baby’s birth so that I could be left alone to nurse, sleep, and bond with my baby. They sent me home with formula, bottles, and coupons for more.
I didn’t find out until 6 weeks later, after many painful weeks of toileting and sitting on pillows, that the wound left a hole in my perineum that would take years to heal properly. My doc hadn’t even shown up to this one postpartum visit-her male partner was there, and I felt abandoned and violated.
Still, I had a vaginal delivery, largely free of drugs, and I was able to successfully breastfeed (a battle I won with the hospital nursery). My daughter is happy and healthy, and I had learned a lot! I learned that natural birth is extremely rare at the hospital, and it usually involves a mom who is progressing so quickly that there is no time to intervene. I learned that midwives are the experts of natural birth, so I sought one for my second pregnancy. I learned that I had to advocate for what I want for my family without ever backing down. I learned to be a conscious consumer of medical care, limiting it to necessities only, not natural life events, such as normal birth.